Check Mate
by Elm Kitten
Summary: At a party, Snape runs into someone he had neither expected or desired to see. SSOC, but a good OC, no worries. One Shot (unless convinced otherwise)


**Author Note:** Disclaimer blah blah blah it is not mine blah blah blah please do not sue me. Also, I have problems with quotation marks and apostrophe, so they are now either * or curiously missing. :P Enjoy!

He watched them swirl below, that glimmer of polished society that gilded a band of the worst excuses for humans in existence. They waltzed, and the fabric trailing out from the guiding mens dress robes was only surpassed by the shining bustles of the ladies gowns. _A fortune wasted for a party. Damn Malfoy._ The thought soured the champagne in his hand, and he crushed the fluted crystal in an iron grip. The pieces tinkled like the false laughs of the women as they hit the floor.

Another year, another masked affair of the powerful and beautiful coming together. It was revolting. He knew on each and every forearm of each and every guest there was Dark Mark, some modestly hiding it, others flaunting their masters leash to the world. Or at least to Malfoys guests. The host himself perched on a small dais, an eagle mask obscuring his face, but the long blonde hair and the fact he was mauling an intoxicated red head were dead give aways. Snape sneered from behind his crows face, and fingered the trim of shiny black feather that blended effortlessly with his hair. A group passed him by down the stairs.

*Say Severus, care to take Emily for a spin? She is aching for a dark bastard like yourself.* McNair stopped and gestured to a bright eyed blonde who looked like she might have been innocent a few dozen men ago.

*No, Avery, you know that. The answer will never change.* He did not bother hiding his annoyance.

*You know, old man, I am starting to doubt the existence of your reason. Go have fun.*

At least he did not get dragged out onto the dance floor with the sinister young debutants trying to move up in the ranks by seducing a senior Death Eater. Oh no, he had a good excuse. Severus Snape was married, and had been for twenty years. Just because he could not tell you what she looked like, did not mean she did not exist. He fingered the gold ring binding him to the woman who was also victim to a parents advantageous arranged marriage.

It was a long time ago now, that a fifteen year old Severus, shaking with raw fury, pledged himself eternally to a fourteen year old stranger so shrouded in rich, white veils he could not describe her beyond female and average height. After the ceremony they had been port keyed to a dark, lush bedchamber where they were told they would consummate the marriage or it would be crucio until they screamed in repentance. Neither had said a word, nor seen each other, they just did it. It was awkward, and unsatisfying, and he knew it was painful for her, but he tried to be gentle. When it was over they rolled to opposite side of the enormous bed, and he could hear her cry. In the morning she was gone.

Like clockwork, though, he returned to her bedchamber in her parents manor once a year, on their wedding anniversary, and they preformed their marital duties. He doubted any heir would ever come of it. It was always dark, and they never spoke, but after twenty years they had learned to take their own pleasure from the ritual. She did not complain that he always had scotch on his breath, they never kissed, and he never bothered to worry about her faking it, he did not care. They were faceless strangers who made a mockery of love once a year. The only way he knew it was the same woman year after year was by the curves beneath him, and their constant shape.

But maybe Avery, while a twisted pervert, had a point. Snape pulled the ring off and weighed it in his hand. He had always been faithful, but to what? And what confidence did he have that his shadow bride was faithful to him? Perhaps she had been filling her time and her bed while Severus foolishly suffered night after night lonely and uncared for by another human. _She has never given me a reason to believe she cares for me at all, or that she wants to even try._ The ring slipped into his pocket. Tonight, he was single. Tonight, he would not go home alone.

He surveyed the room. The women either ignored him or smiled coquettishly with vapid-looking eyes framed in fluttering lashes. All except one. She stood in a study off the main hall stairs, focused on an antique chessboard with a king under her fingertips. He moved closer. A pretty picture, she had a bundle of red-brown hair elegantly but simply piled and pinned up, a sky blue gown that shifted like waves lapping at the floor and a white mask sat forgotten on a wide paneled desk. _It is almost too easy._ The strains of music drifted in from below, and he caught a servant hired for the night passing by him with a tray of goblets with red wine. One in each hand, he approached the door way.

*Care to play?* He tuned his deep voice to its most velvety setting, and watched her twirl around, king in hand. They met eyes. He could not tell what colour they were in the dim light of the room. She calmly appraised him, and nodded.

They set up the pieces and began the game. Her delighted laugh whenever she captured a piece lit up parts of him he had forgotten. Of all the women here, he had found an unspoiled masterpiece of feminine glory. She peeled her gloves off absently, and he was deeply moved to find her arms spotless of the Dark Mark. It burst the dam for him.

*We are pretty much even here, Madame, care to make a bet?* She responded by carefully regarding the boards inhabitants.

*Certainly, name your price.* He adored her vibrant, quiet voice.

*You. If I win, you come home with me. If you win, you name your prize and I will give it.* She shook her head at his impulsive overture, suddenly serious, and wiggled a pale hand at him. There shone a solitary silver band. He leaned over the table and whispered into her ear.

*It is worth it? What kind of man would leave you at a party of Death Eaters alone, where you could meet dangerous men in hidden rooms?* She stiffened. He smiled into her neck. _I think I hit a nerve. One similar to my own._ A flicker of guilt was hushed. He moved back, and gazed steadily. Her eyes were shut, and her breathing deep. Moonlight played across her face as the room grew still, the only sounds the masses below drinking and becoming bawdy.

*Alright, if you win, you win me for tonight. If I win, I chose my prize.* Her eyes flew open, and they were darker, more mysterious. Snape adored them too, and threw himself into the game. So did she, and it moved swiftly towards that final move when she threw those dreaded words into his shocked face.

*Check mate!* There was triumph ringing in her voice, but Snape could feel his fantasy for the night slipping through his fingers.

*Name your prize.* He spoke softly, dangerously, and his gripped the table edge. Her fragile fingers rested on his, and her darkened eyes caught his line of sight. She strode around the table to him, gown ebbing and flowing, and met his ear with her wine-dipped words.

*I choose you. You will be my prize tonight.* The gentle air she stirred had barely reached his senses when she disapparated him away and he found himself in a darkened, heavy bedroom. The bed inspired him, and he captured her with his mouth, a new experience for him. It was a heady, decadent moment, and his tongue explored her lips and beyond mercilessly. Control wavered, and he backed her up against the bed post, already excited by the firm pressure of her body to his.

A moan caught in her throat and her hands sought the fasteners of his robes. He tried to reach for hers, but she stopped him, breaking away from the kiss long enough to speak.

*My prize, my choice.* Soon she had him naked and aching, standing on the lush carpeting while she admired from her fully clothed vantage sitting on the end of the bed. _Are all women so sadistic?_ He watched her stand, and glide over, her hips swaying deliciously, the fabric making her a dream of grace. 

She came up close to him, and her fingertips ran down his bare chest, and lower, making him jerk. She reached up and sucked his neck, processing the delicate skin gently between her teeth so that she knew it would bruise. It was too much for him to bear. He grasped her to him tightly, sealing his mouth to hers, and tearing slips of silk away from her body. For a moment he held her naked, close to him, enjoying all those sensations he had never felt before. 

He growled, and tossed her on the bed, landing firmly on top of her. She straddled him with a delighted, throaty laugh and she kissed him, lips swollen and ripe. His rough hands ran down her smooth curves and stopped. He sat back suddenly, and she made a noise of shocked protest. 

Those curves. They haunted him. 

He bent and stroked the length of her body from shoulder to thigh again. She gazed up wonderingly, curious under heavy lidded eyes.

*What is your husbands name?* He demanded, and she removed her legs from around his torso.

*Pardon me?* The surprise and beginnings of anger replaced the wanton desire in her tone.

*Your husbands name, who is he?* He demanded again.

*Severus Snape. Why? Plan on telling him I cheated? Well, you can tell that bastard it was the first time I even thought about being unfaithful, despite his neglect.* She left her hands on his hips where they had been, but she stared defiantly at him.

*I do not need to tell Severus Snape what his wife has been up to. Severus Snape knows exactly what his wife his doing and with whom.* He did not know if he wanted to be ill, or laugh, but he choked one of them down.

*I do not understand.* He watched light from the window trace patterns on her pale skin, her face familiarly hidden. The realization was hitting him hard.

*Madame, I find it a little odd that the first time either of us attempt to cheat on our spouses, we find ourselves comedicly innocent.* His memory spun back to her fine face and glorious hair, the way she moved, and her impressive chess moves. _This is my wife! How could I be such a fool to be so blind to her for these long years._ _I could have been loved, I would not have been lonely. I never gave her a chance to be more than an heir-producing object, never seeing the woman I could have held all this time._

A tear slide down his face, and dripped onto his forgotten naked body that knelt before his wife on the same marital bed they had shared these twenty years as strangers and reluctant lovers. She was confused, but he watched it dawn in her eyes. The reflection of regret and new beginnings mirrored in their eyes. They could love each other, be man and wife in more than name, and never be lonely again.

Her palm was cold against his hip, and drew her close for a kiss, this time not out of the lust that brought them there, but a kiss of eternal commitment. She closed her eyes, and let her tears mingle with his on their sheets. It was their bed, their relationship and they would still have each other when the dawn came and the light broke through the window.


End file.
